


I Hate You

by skippingreelsofrhyme



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skippingreelsofrhyme/pseuds/skippingreelsofrhyme
Summary: A little elaboration of Deb's botched confession in S7.
Relationships: Debra Morgan/Dexter Morgan
Kudos: 16





	I Hate You

**Author's Note:**

> If there can be hate-fucking, there can be a hate-blowjob.

"I went to the church that night to tell you that I'm in love with you," Deb choked out. At Dexter's dumbfounded look, she broke down into sobs. Unsure of proper protocol in the situation of your sister confessing to you, he shifted his weight before placing a hand on Debra's shoulder. It was supposed to be comforting. But, when they made eye contact she started to wail even louder. In a sudden shift of tone, Dexter slapped his other hand over her mouth.

"The kids are sleeping," he hissed sharply. The tears in Deb's red eyes continued to flow, but the tendons in her forehead clenched completely. Dexter felt something warm and wet in between his fingers, only realizing it was saliva when he felt teeth close around his middle finger. "OW! Fuck!"

"Shut. Up!" Deb spat in a hushed scream. A beat, she lunged at his face in an attack so surprising, even a seasoned serial killer was taken aback. Cringing away from the onslaught, he fell backwards out of his seat, grunting in pain as he retained a concrete burn on his backside.

"Deb!" Dexter yelped, when he felt her fists ball up in his shirt collar. While fear wasn't necessarily what he was experiencing, he was definitely thrown off. A lump of tension stuck in his throat.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Deb grunted, jaw thrust forward, as she shook Dexter by the shirt quite violently. His head flailed back and forth, but was held mostly in place by the strong muscles in the back of his neck. Save his strength he'd've hit the ground repeatedly: hard enough to break the skin, rupture blood vessels, and leave hair mashed into the pavement. Debra's intense feelings had clearly not ebbed. As much was obvious when she leaned in close to repeat, "Shut. Up."

"Deb-cc-cc-cc-!" Dexter began, before the two thumbs on his throat pressed down on his windpipe. The long, lean fingers wrapped around his neck were quivering--flexing--and they were very strong. Yet, as her grip clenched, Dexter could tell she didn't have the strength required to successfully strangle a person to completion. Of course, neither did he--that's why he utilized his elbow for choke-holds. So, he lay pliant under the frothing rage of the woman holding him down. Looking placidly into her eyes, he could see a flash of his old sister behind her emotions at present. She doubled down; eyebrows furrowed, squeezing tighter. When Dexter tried to swallow, Debra's grip caused him to draw in a suffocated gasp for air.

"No!" Debra cried, hands flinching away. Dexter lay helpless underneath her. Disheveled, his diapragm continued to pump, desperate. Deb's bottom lip quivered and she began to wail anew. She sunk her face into the broad chest beneath her to stifle her sobs, hands slack, palms up. Feeling her nose burrowing into him, Dexter was overcome by a wave of nostalgia.

Once upon a time, whenever there was any threat, his dear little sister would curl up in his arms to cry it out. Her diminutive shuddering frame felt good--even when it was racked through with sobs--because his arms were always big enough for her to fit in. To make her feel safe; protected.

Never before had Debra herself presented the danger. And yet, her weight and warmth felt so familiar. Wistful, Dexter gently petted her head, smoothing down any flyaways. She jerked her head up and the look on her face said she was remembering their shared childhood. Without a word, Deb leaned up to kiss him.

Pinned under her lean, wiry muscles, Dexter had no escape route. In a misguided attempt to keep space between them, he kissed back with stretched-out lips. It was the only thing he could do that wouldn't merit a punch in retaliation. Counter to his plan, Debra doubled down. Her tense grip relaxed slightly. Her fists opened; her stiff fingers unbuckled. Her delicate digits doodled patterns over his chest. Even her hips unclenched, lowering her abdomen to his.

While his brain was trying to formulate a plan of action, Dexter's body was reacting to the close proximity of an adult woman. Even when he tried to wriggle away, Debra's body only chased him closer to the ground. Her long, elegant legs were split wide around his waist, pressing the heat of her core down onto Dexter's crotch. Naturally, his hips bucked up in response to the applied pressure.

Debra exhaled a heavy breath from her nose. Feeling her unwind, Dexter seized the opportunity to prop himself up on his elbows, eager to regain control. As soon as he sat up though, her fingers splayed out on his chest, and she gave him a firm push. He fell onto his back again, completely at her behest. Still upright, Deb glared at her pinned victim. "Sick irony, right?" she sneered, looking down her nose. Dexter's eyebrow-quirk of confusion led her to elaborate, "Getting pinned down like this? Helpless?" "Don't you fucking roll your eyes, Dexter, goddamn it!" Debra screeched, getting up in his face. She drew her right arm back, making as if she was gonna sock him one. Dexter didn't flinch, but he did wince away, closing one eye.

"Deb," he croaked softly. Suddenly, another wave of emotion crashed over Debra, and her tears began to fall anew. She ducked her head as she began to fumble something between them. When he felt the release of his belt being undone, he put two and two together. Grunting, he again tried to sit up. "Hey, Deb..."

"JUST!" Debra erupted. Her eyes were screwed shut so tight it was causing veins to throb out of her forehead. She shoved his face down with her palm. Dexter hit the deck once more, blearily looking up at the light-polluted Miami night sky. He didn't lift his hips to aid her attempts to pull you down his bottoms, but she got them off anyway.

Dexter huffed at the hot, damp sensation. His heart pumped in double-time, circulating blood to all his extremities. He naturally moved his hand to the head sucking him off, and was startled by the coarse texture under his fingertips. He opened his eyes and looked down not upon soft yellow hair, but Deb's chemically-treated ruddy brunette. It was in need of a good condition, as was all of her. Dexter reminisced on the cutsie haircut she'd once had--with highlights. Shit, did he have a "thing" for blondes?

Just then, Deb looked up. Her dark green eyes were burning with intensity. Her previous gushy, romantic feelings had been replaced by intense loathing; and this was clear in the blowjob she was giving. Dexter squirmed under her ministrations, which were just short of painful. Sometimes, not so short.

Debra grunted with his cock in her throat, causing Dexter to mewl pathetically. The whole while, she dug her nails into the flesh of his thighs and dragged them down. His built quads clenched, but weren't strong enough to shake the determined Lieutenant. Pricks of blood began to seep from the scratches. She widened her jaw and took him in deep; her lips anchored at the root. One hand continued to scratch, but with the other, Debra cupped and squeezed his taut ballsack.

"Deb," moaned Dexter, giving in to the tantalizing sensations. His member twitched and throbbed and strained against her tongue. After his last pulse, Debra swallowed and released him, coolly wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She rose to her feet and Dexter stood up after her, scrambling to hike up his pants. Tucking himself back into his boxers, he cleared his throat, eyebrows furrowed. "Deb, I-"

"I hate you," she whispered, arms crossed, face tilted towards her boots. She looked up. Debra's eyes had always been so vivacious and fiery, but now, they just looked cold and blank. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah," said Dexter, gaze askance. "Right."

"Just- just get away from me," Deb hiccuped. As she stumbled backwards towards the sliding glass door, she started to cry. "I- I can't even stand to look at you."

Dexter put his hands in his pockets; winced when the door slammed shut. He stood slumped under the wan porchlight, alone.


End file.
